


You Ruin the Rink

by SasseriaDavies



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: 80s, M/M, roller skate au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-04-13 21:32:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4538145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SasseriaDavies/pseuds/SasseriaDavies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael 'Fireball' Jones is the fastest roller skater at the rink, and he doesn't need Geoff Ramsey coming in to rile him up every week. He pisses Michael off, but he's Gavin's older brother, so there's nothing he can do but bear the constant attention. Until, suddenly, Geoff vanishes from the rink, and Michael doesn't feel victorious, or even relieved. He feels... upset.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fireball

**Author's Note:**

> will I ever finish anything??? the answer is probably not. anyway, here's a new au :)

The first memory Michael has of Gavin is watching him break his nose on the hardwood of the rink floor. It's easily the most memorable first impression someone's ever made on Michael, and it still makes him laugh to think about it. Ray had asked him earlier that week at school, if he was cool with him bringing a 'new friend' to their skating night on Friday. Sure, he had replied. The more the merrier.

 

Michael had waited for them outside of the entrance in the cool evening for a grand total of eight minutes, before paying for himself and hurrying to the locker room. A further ten minutes of zooming around the rink passed, weaving between newbies and couples holding hands, with no arrival of Ray or his mystery guest.

 

_Pulling up near the gate, Michael leant against the barrier, peering over to the hallway leading to the locker room. The timing couldn't have been better really, because he hears the door slam and two teens emerge into the building's main room. One's Ray, who slowly glides over to the gate, looking amused as well as rather pleased with himself. The other, a taller boy with flyaway hair, is staggering on his skates like a baby deer learning to walk. Suddenly, his arms begin to pin-wheel as he loses balance, and Michael snickers at his panicked expression. The stranger clings to the barrier in front of Michael, and they're face to face, one on the rink, and one outside, in front of the viewing platform._

 

“ _I didn't realise you were gonna bring a ditz to the rink, Ray,” he commented, lazily pushing away from the barrier and rolling backwards until he's stopped in front of the gate. “What's your name, ditz?” He calls to the gasping boy._

 

“ _Gavin!” He says, attempting to stand. “How do you stay up in these things?” He exclaims, cautiously rolling himself over to the boys whilst clinging to the barrier with a death-grip._

 

“ _By rolling, dummy.” Ray scoffs. He hitches the gate to the side with a hip and pushes out onto the rink. “All you're doing is attempting to walk, Gavin. That's not gonna work.”_

 

_Gavin finally approaches the gate, staring at the other boys with wide eyes._

 

“ _Come on!” Ray urges, skating away slightly to give the new kid some room. Michael almost rolls his eyes, just knowing that this isn't going to end well._

 

_How right he ends up being._

 

_Gavin's eyes flit from his hands on the gate to the hardwood and back, before he swallows once, whacks the gate with a hand and flings himself onto the rink._

 

_He stays upright for about three seconds, or at least enough time for both him and Ray to cheer, before he loses his footing and slams his face into the floor. Blood pools out onto the polished wood, and Gavin groans loudly, rolling onto his back._

 

_Ray snorts, trying to conceal his laughter, but Michael's almost crying, doubled over a few feet away._

 

“ _What an ass!” He wheezes out, struggling to breathe as Gavin writhes beneath them._

 

That had been eight months ago though. Now Gavin's a regular on the Friday night skate, dubbed 'Lads Night.' Of course, Gavin is still the weakest skater of them all, but not by much. His improvement was rapid over the months, quickly catching up to Ray.

 

However, neither of the boys can match Michael's speed.

 

The regulars call him 'Fireball', because most them see of blur of red hair and nothing more when Michael flies past them, unbeaten, untouchable. A couple of guys have tried challenging him to races, from one end of the rink to the other, or three laps around the track. Michael always takes them on, smirking when Gavin waves a ten dollar bill and challenges them to sweeten the deal, if they think they're fast enough.

 

They always think they're fast enough, and they're always wrong.

 

On those weeks the Lads go down to the diner afterwards, ordering root beers and huge greasy burgers, courtesy of the hard earned cash they receive.

 

“Jones!”

 

Michael snaps to attention, dropping his pencil on his desk and looking more than a little foolish. “Sir?”

 

“Were you even listening?” The teacher demands. Michael's eyes subtly slide towards the blackboard, where the text may as well be written in French for all he understands it. He sighs and slumps back into his seat.

 

“No, Sir. Sorry.” A few kids snicker around him, and Michael tries not to let himself blush.

 

“If I catch you not paying attention again, you'll get detention.”

 

Michael's eyes widen and he sits up, trying extremely hard to look interested and captured by the lesson as the last fifteen minutes trail by. He can't get detention today. They're going back to Ray's to dump their stuff and change, then they're heading straight to the rink.

 

Friday is easily the highlight of his week. Roller skating makes him feel alive. Like he means something. Maybe he's a total sap – Ray would certainly think so – but when he's racing around that rink, senses honed and posture locked low, he actually _feels_ the flames licking his feet.

 

He feel like he's burning up. And it's _amazing_.

 

Michael's eyes keep flicking to the clock, absent-mindedly tapping his pencil on the edge of his desk. As the minute hand crawls closer to to the twelve, he pushes his books into a pile, gripping them with one hand, ready to shove into his bag at a moment's notice.

 

“Okay class. You can go-” That's all that Michael needs to hear. His backpack slams into his back and he's pushing the classroom door open before the teacher can even finish his sentence, hurrying down the halls to Ray's locker. It's the closest locker to the last period classes of the three teens, and to Michael's surprise, he's actually not first for a change. Ray's already there, digging into his backpack for something.

 

Michael grins, slamming himself into the lockers directly beside Ray, making him jump.

 

“Asshole.” Before Michael can come up with a retort he spots Gavin speeding down the crowded hallway, and throws up his hand in a wave.

 

Gavin returns it, drawing closer until he has an arm around Michael, crowing, “My boy!” Michael returns the gesture, smiling when he withdraws his hand to wrap an arm around Ray's waist, squeezing slightly. Ray scoffs and pushes him off, but the subtle blush across his face is a telltale sign he likes it. Those two... Michael shakes his head, unable to feel anything but happiness for them, as well as relief, because God knows it took long enough for them to realise each other's feelings.

 

“Well, you two, let's bounce!” Michael leads the way to the doors, unable to shake the grin on his face as they head to the student car park. Gavin pauses in his idle chatter to address both of them, looking a little nervous.

 

“So, guys, you know of my arsey big brother Geoff, right?” He starts, waiting until Michael unlocks the Fairmont and clambers inside to continue. Ray opens the back door, throwing his bags onto the back seat and climbing in after them. Michael pops open the passenger door from the inside, since the door handle's pretty faulty. Gavin tumbles in quickly, shutting the door behind him.

 

“The one who farts in your drinks and junk, with the tattoos?” Ray says, eyes flicking up to watch Michael's face in the rear-view mirror. He isn't paying attention, busy manhandling his keys into the ignition.

 

“Yup. Well, he and a couple of his friends are coming tonight. Not with us, or anything. But they'll be there. So.” He finishes awkwardly as the engine finally roars to life, and Michael pulls out.

 

“No problem, Gavino.”

 

Gavin knows that Michael didn't hear a word of that conversation. Ray knows that there will almost certainly be a problem.

 

* * *

 

The topic doesn't come up again until they're a few feet away from joining the queue outside the large building.

 

Michael drapes his tied together skates around his neck before turning to Gavin, who seems to be more fidgety than usual. He's bouncing on the balls of his feet, spinning one of the wheels on his skate, and frankly it's making Michael nervous. Finally, when the doors open and the line starts to move, he snaps.

 

“Gavin, why are you dancing all over the place?”

 

Gavin blinks at him, seemingly unaware of his consistent and very obvious bouncing. “What? Nothing my boy, just a little nervous. I haven't seen Geoff yet...” He trails off, craning his neck behind them to look over the crowd. After a moment, he turns back to face them, appearing satisfied, although Michael can tell that this Geoff thing is still bothering him. He knows Ray can as well, so they take a shoulder each and steer him through the doors, laughing and joking all the while to distract him from whatever worries are running through his head.

 

In record time they pay, shove their things into a locker and lace up their boots, ready to hit the floor. Tonight the lights are dim, but the whole place seems lit up. Neon stars and hearts are pasted to the floor and along the rim of the rink, and everywhere Michael looks people are lit up by headbands or armbands or the print on their t-shirts.

 

Hell, he's luminous as well – neon orange flames on his skates are too hard to resist. There's music playing too, but no-one can really hear it over the noise of teenagers laughing and shouting, accompanied by the occasional thump of a body hitting the floor.

He glances over at Ray and Gavin. It's Ray's wristband that brightens him up, and Gavin looks an idiot in bright pink shorts, but hey, it's supposed to be a night of fun and frolic. Oh, and racing. Don't forget a friendly beat down or two to pay for the food at the end of the night.

 

They glide out onto the rink, ready to rock, and although Michael loves his friends dearly, this is his time to let out his frustrations and anger that have piled up over the week. So naturally, he leaves them in the dust as he gathers up speed.

 

The lights are not so dim that other skaters can't be seen without wearing neon, so Michael weaves between the various groups with practised precision, eating up the ground of the straight. He eases into the turn, effortlessly swooping around the large curve. He hears various gasps and a couple of cheers, and it fuels him. He knows he's someone here, with his skates on. He's a fireball, burning and raging and unable to be contained, and _holy shit who the fuck is this lunatic-!_

 

He swoops round, power sliding to a stop and ending up with his back to the skater who collides with him, chest to back. Luckily Michael has balance, and he tips forward onto his toe stoppers, leaning to the left towards the barrier, keeping them both on their feet.

 

When the skater is no longer touching him, Michael swings round, livid. “What the fuck?!” He yells at the taller guy, who's grinning at him, an eyebrow raised. “Where do you get off skating directly at someone speeding down a straight, asshole!?”

 

This guy doesn't seem to give a shit about the danger he just put them in. No, instead his grin just grows bigger and he leans back against the barrier.

 

“You're a fucking idiot!” He pushes away from the stranger, who turns to watch him go.

 

“The name's Geoff, sweet cheeks; you forgot to ask!” He calls after Michael.

 

He growls under his breath, focussing on gathering speed once more, faster and faster to get away from the biggest asshole on skates he's ever met.

 

* * *

 

It doesn't occur to Michael that asshole Geoff is the same person as Gavin's brother Geoff, until two hours later. The lads like to skate for the entire night, which means taking a food break halfway through. They're on their way back to their chairs, with a plate full of fries and a pizza slice each, when Michael spots Geoff at the other side of the viewing platform. He scowls, instantly annoyed by the mere sight of the man, who hasn't noticed them yet.

 

Michael actually manages to forget about Geoff until about halfway through his pizza.

 

“Gavvers!” Their little group are being approached, and Geoff has a huge grin on his face, arms wide and motioning to Gavin.

 

Much to Michael's disbelief, Gavin puts his tray of food aside and joins Geoff in a strange hug-pat hybrid. “Geoffrey! I started to think you were just kidding with me!” For some reason, Gavin sounds relieved, and Michael can't even begin to work out why, because Gavin's already turning to him and Ray, eyes big and smile wide.

 

“Lads, meet my brother Geoff, and his friends, Ryan and Jack.” Ryan and Jack nod, respectively. “And these are my friends, Ray and Michael.” Ray nods, but Michael's still, staring at Geoff with an unreadable expression.

 

Suddenly Geoff's attention is on him, half-lidded blue eyes bright with amusement. Without breaking eye-contact with Michael, he speaks. “Michael? I was expecting a name with a little punch, to be honest.”

 

“If you want a punch, I'll be happy to oblige,” he grinds out, teeth clenched. He can't believe his fucking luck. Geoff, however, looks absolutely delighted. He runs his fingers through messy black hair.

 

“I wouldn't go fighting me, doll. You'd prob'ly find yourself in the ER pretty quick.” That pisses him off to no end too, because who the fuck does Geoff think he is? That arrogant tone, full of confidence, makes Michael irrationally angry.

 

He moves his tray to the side and stands, fists clenched. “Yeah? Fucking try me.” He doesn't take his eyes off Geoff, who slowly begins to close the gap between them. He stops a couple of steps away from Michael, towering over him a little.

 

“I wouldn't want to hurt that pretty face.”

 

Dimly, Michael knows that flooring his best friend's older brother probably won't put him in anyone's good books. So, reluctantly, he lowers himself back into his seat, eyes still ablaze and glaring at Geoff. It only serves to make the man even happier.

 

“Good choice, darl.”

 

“Do you ever run out of pet names that my granddad would use?” Michael retorts, unable to help himself. Geoff simply laughs in response. When it dies down, there's a slightly awkward atmosphere settled around the group, after that tense little show. Gavin looks like he's about to bounce out his chair, and Geoff's friends are sharing a knowing glance with one another, before Jack clears his throat.

 

“It was nice to meet you both. See you later, Gav. Have a good night.” Gavin looks relieved, nodding at Jack in gratitude.

 

The three older boys walk back to the area they've claimed, and Michael looks away, unable to shake off the feeling of Geoff's eyes boring into his. If he'd turned around, he would have seen Geoff looking his way, and perhaps he would have noticed the dreamy, far-off look in the older teen's eyes.


	2. Just Can't Get Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geoff returns to the rink, and Michael teaches him a few moves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly, im shocked myself. I did not know that I could write this fast, but here we are. im super motivated for this story though so mybe that explains it. enjoy!

“So Geoffers.” Gavin comes into the kitchen, leaning against the wall and watching Geoff dig through the fridge. “What did you think of the rink?”

 

Geoff sighs, uncapping a beer by slamming it against the countertop. “I feel like we've had this conversation before, buddy.” He takes a swig of the drink and drags the back of his hand against his mouth. “I told you, I had a good time. Does that mean I'm coming again tomorrow?” He pauses, amused at Gavin's hopeful look.

 

“We'll see, alright? We'll see where the night takes us.” His tone suggests that the conversation is over, and Geoff barges past his brother, nudging him good-naturedly with his hip. Gavin cries out in surprise, stumbling over his feet.

 

“If I don't see you there though, have a good time.” Of course, Geoff has every intention of returning to the rink tomorrow night, for one reason only. Unfortunately, it's not to ease his brother's worrying, (although that's an important benefit.) No, he's going back because his mind has been plagued by Michael for the entire week.

 

Michael is bold and fierce and brash and completely unafraid of Geoff. Which is weird, to be honest, all things considered. Geoff is taller, older and an all around 'bad boy' in the eyes of most suburban teens, his brother included. And yet, Michael... well, Michael has a fire that Geoff's never seen before, and it more than gets him going. Not to mention the kid is absolutely _adorable,_ with big brown eyes and freckles.

 

As much as Geoff thinks about the boy, he can't get a reading on him. He's tirelessly tried to plan how their next meeting will go, but to no avail. He just cannot for the life of him predict a single move Michael will make. And frankly, it's pissing him off a little.

 

So, Geoff will definitely be making the return trip. He picks up the telephone and dials a number, eyes flitting around the room and landing on his leather jacket. Geoff pulls a face and waits for the ringing tone to subside. Suddenly a voice pipes up. “Hello?”

 

“Burnie!” Geoff's voice is cheery, in spite of the news he's about to deliver.

 

“Geoff! All set for tomorrow, are we?” He asks, and although his tone is casual, Geoff knows that the topic is anything but.

 

“Actually, Burnie, something's come up. I'm afraid you won't be graced with my presence for a few weeks.” He grimaces when he hears Burnie's aggravated groan.

 

“Ramsey, you can't be serious.” Geoff's silence is proof enough. “Fuck!” He hears a bang down the line. “What the fuck are we supposed to do now!? We're gonna get creamed.” There's a pause. Geoff doesn't say anything.

 

Eventually, Burnie sighs. “Alright. Well, thanks for telling me anyway.”

 

“Knew you'd understand!”

 

“Geoff-!” Geoff hangs up and replaces the phone, feeling much better. He rubs his hands together, selects a tape for the cassette player and leans back on the bed, hands tucked behind his head.

 

Maybe Michael would like a mixtape.

 

 

The queue seems shorter this week. Michael's thankful, but he's not as excited as usual, and it's really irking him. This is the best night of the week, his favourite thing to do, and usually he's bouncing off the walls by now. What the fuck was up with him?

 

Deep down, he knows it's Geoff. He knows it as well as he knows his own name, as well as he knows how to skate. That motherfucker has gotten under his skin, and he doesn't like it, not one bit. Still, there's not a lot he can do, except hope that the older teen doesn't make a surprise appearance tonight.

But of course, life doesn't like to give Michael what he wants. No, what life likes to do is fuck him in the ass, hard and often, and while Michael kind of likes that under the right circumstances, this is not a right circumstance at all.

 

He's lacing up his boots when a presence makes itself known in front of him. He doesn't look up yet though. The skates on the stranger's feet are rented ones, and as Michael's eyes climb higher they notice stonewash jeans ripped at the knee.

 

He could groan.

 

“I feel like I made a bad impression on you, Michael.” It's Geoff, looking very pleased, and very aggravating to Michael. In fact, the fist he's made with his right hand is itching to collide with that stupid smirk. _Hard_.

 

“Good for you.” He mumbles, pulling the knot tight on the boot. “Move your ass before I knock it over.” He has no time for Geoff today, especially after the week he's had.

 

“Rude. Maybe if you ask nicely, I'll consider letting you by.” Geoff sounds like he's _gloating_ and Michael's one more condescending comment away from knocking this fucker out.

 

“Sorry, I'll try again. Get the fuck out of my way, or I'll shove my fist up your ass.”

 

“Is that a promise?” The response is quick, very quick. Suddenly, Geoff's face is inches away from his and he's grinning like he's won something.

 

Michael blinks, a little surprised. Was Geoff trying to imply...? Michael's eyes flick around the room, suddenly self-concious, but no-one seems to be paying them any mind. He breathes out and locks eyes with Geoff once more, who's waiting for a response, waiting for the ball to be back in his court.

 

“Look. You're Gav's brother, so I'm not gonna hurt you. Yet. But stay the fuck away from me, okay?” He pushes Geoff, hand firmly spread on his chest, and Geoff lets himself be pushed, looking as if he's been stunned.

 

Michael skates away, feeling confused. Geoff's heart had been beating pretty damn fast. He chances a glance back, and sees Geoff still backed against the locker, staring at him as if he's some kind of angel. It's more than a little weird, and Michael doesn't understand the strange, tingly feeling in his chest.

 

It doesn't matter, he decides, pushing open the gate with purely muscle memory. All that matters now, is speed. A whole fuckload of speed.

 

 

Geoff can't move. Like, at all. This locker room is his home now, he lives here. He can't move because fuck, Michael _touched him_ , and it felt like nothing he's ever experienced. He doesn't understand how a simple hand on his chest has rendered him immobile but he has to find out. It was like electricity, zapping his chest with warmth that travelled through his torso.

 

The only thing he could compare it to is landing the final punch in a fight, really, and even then, that's not a proper comparison. Honestly, it's the strangest sensation. And now, now Geoff needs more. He needs to feel it again. Just once, and then he might be okay. That could be it.

 

Placing his palms flat against the lockers, he pushes off, and begins to skate towards the rink to meet his friends, who are chatting to Gavin. His eyes scan the rink, and it's so easy to spot Michael it's almost laughable. His little red head bobbing up around the track, twice as fast as anyone else. Geoff approaches the rink, a little hesitant.

 

If he's honest, he doesn't really know if he's a good skater or not. He's hasn't been for so long, not since high school. He just prays the muscle memory is still there. It seemed to be, last week, but he didn't do much skating. Most of the time he was on the rink he was leaning against the barrier, talking to Ryan, who is not the greatest skater in the world.

 

He starts out a little shaky, finding his rhythm, but after a couple of laps he begins to find his way, and it's like he never left the rink. He's doing fine, weaving between bodies with ease. It makes him smile as fond memories of skating with Gavin come flooding back, racing him around the rink and daring each other to do stupid tricks.

 

He can't remember what changed.

 

A wind rushes by him and he sees the back of Michael's head speeding away. Geoff grins, sensing a challenge, and begins to increase his speed, closing the gap between the two of them. Michael's fast – Geoff can see why they call him 'fireball' – but with a little push from Geoff they're neck and neck down the straight, and then Michael pulls ahead, obviously aware of the challenger now and not about to let his reputation be shattered.

 

They pull into the turn and Geoff's on the inside, so he catches up and passes, skating in front of Michael to his other side. Off they go, racing down again, air whipping past them, but it's not enough. Geoff's getting tired and his legs begin to ache, and he's helpless to do anything but watch Michael pull ahead. He accepts defeat, toe-stopping in front of the gate and climbing out to the viewing platform to grab a milkshake.

 

“Hey.” He whips around, and Michael's bending over the barrier, still on the rink, and he's smiling. Fuck. Geoff swallows because _Michael has a dimple_ and it's the cutest thing he's ever seen.

 

“That's the closest anyone's come to beating me. Even if you were on the inside.” He jokes, laughing a little. “Anyway... thanks. We should race properly some time.”

 

“Can't get enough of me, eh, doll? No shame there,” Geoff answers, because he doesn't know how to respond to that.

 

Instantly the smile is dropped, and Geoff feels a pang of regret for being the cause of that dimple's disappearance. Michael scoffs. “Forget it.”

 

He's gone again, leaving Geoff lonely and a little bit more in love then he was at the start of the night. Only now, his brain is cooking up an idea or two.

 

A couple of hours later, around eight pm, the 'disco dance' begins, an activity in which dancing on skates is the idea, rather than racing around the rink. It's not Michael's favourite, but Gavin's all about it, and most of the time he can't resist a little boogie. Ray of course is dragged into it, spun around by Gavin to any remotely sappy song. This time, though, Ray says he's gonna sit out for the first part, content to finish his burger.

 

So, Gavin and Michael roll onto the rink, now dubbed the dance floor by the resident DJ for the night.

They dance together to a few songs, mouthing along to the new Bonnie Tyler song and shoving each other across the dance floor. Michael hauls Gavin into his arms at one point, pretending to be his 'hero'. When the song finishes the familiar tune of Depeche Mode's 'Just Can't Get Enough' fills the room, the synth piano making Michael grin. He starts to bounce, rocking back and forward on his stoppers. He looks up, but Gavin's skating away from him a little.

 

Michael goes to follow, but someone skates by, cutting off his path. It doesn't take a genius to work out who.

 

“When I'm with you, baby, I go out of my head, I just can't get enough,” a voice begins to sing, near his ear, with a surprisingly good tone. Michael swings round, looping to face Geoff. He folds his arms and raises an eyebrow, looking very unimpressed as Geoff continues to serenade him, grinning all the while.

 

“All the things you do to me, and everything you've said,” he begins to skate around Michael in circles, and although this fucker is a pain in the ass and extremely annoying, a little part of Michael starts to enjoy it. He kind of wants to laugh at the other's antics, but encouraging this behaviour would not be good for the long term. Or at least, Michael _thinks_ it won't be. 

 

A hand reaches out for his, close but not quite touching his arm, and Michael stares down, distracted a little by the ink decorating Geoff's forearms. He doesn't stay distracted for long though, because Geoff's fucking singing again. 

 

“We slip and slide as we fall in love,” Geoff pushes a leg out dramatically to the side, imitating a speed skater slightly, but it's appropriate for the line, really. 

 

His hand is still outstretched. Against his better judgement – hell, against  _any_ judgement, Michael takes it, and suddenly he's yanked into Geoff, and he's caught so off guard he crashes into him. His other hand has scrabbled to find purchase on Geoff's shoulder, clinging to his white tee, and his eyes dart up to Geoff's face. 

 

Geoff looks ecstatic, and he leans down to Michael, and for one terrifying moment he thinks Geoff's going to kiss him, right here in front of everyone. But no, Geoff's lips come to a stop near Michael's ear. “And I just can't seem to get enough of.”

 

Time, that had slowed down considerably from the moment he took Geoff's hand, warps back to normal speed, and Michael's hit with the reality that he's holding Geoff's hand and he's pressed against his chest.

 

Michael flies backwards from Geoff, looking shocked, but when Geoff stares at his face, the teen doesn't look angry. He hasn't dropped Geoff's hand either – if anything he's clenching harder. Then, Michael proves to be just as unpredictable as Geoff thought he was.

 

Michael pulls Geoff along, skating around other dancing teens, before beginning to spin, causing Geoff to turn the opposite way. His grip becomes more tense and Geoff realises that Michael's pulling him in, closing the distance between them and building up velocity, until they're chest to chest once more, both of them spinning in tandem, and it's magical and not at all what Geoff had expected from the boy. 

 

“It's getting hotter, it's a burning love, and I just can't seem to get enough of...” Michael smiles, noticing Geoff's slightly slack jaw and wide eyes. He flicks Geoff's chin with the index finger of his free hand, forcing Geoff's mouth closed, and then... well, then he pushes Geoff in the chest, using the force to spin himself and skate away, snickering. 

 

Geoff's flat on his ass, staring after the retreating form with something akin to anger. Is he angry? Oh yeah, he's fucking furious. But also slightly in awe, because Michael gives as good as he gets, doesn't he? Nothing seems to shake him for long. Michael seems to have pegged him pretty quickly, and Geoff  _still_ can't work out the kid's deal. He moves a hand to his own chest, feels his heart trying to beat it's way out of his chest. That electric feeling is back, this time ten-fold, and Geoff realises he was so wrong before. Instead of it being enough, it's left him craving Michael's touch. 

 

“Geoff? Geoff, you okay, bud?” Jack's voice is low, but still startles him out of his thoughts. His friend is staring down at him, concerned, with a hand stretched out to help him up. Geoff takes it, hauling himself upright and focussing on Jack. 

 

“Where's Ryan?" He asks, casting a glance around the rink.

 

“He's dancing with Gavin, last time I checked. Seeing as you stole Gavin's partner.” He pauses, but Geoff doesn't seem fazed. Jack sighs. “What was that, Geoff? You feeling butterflies over him or what?” 

 

Geoff shrugs, finally looking nervous. He bites at the pad of his thumb and Jack sees the vulnerability in Geoff, a stark contrast to his usual tough guy demeanour, and definitely different to his usual attitude on a Friday night. He's all bristle and quips and hard edges. Now, after a dance with a high school kid, Geoff's got hearts in his eyes and mush for brains. Of course Jack wants his friend to be happy, wants him to feel loved for once in his life, feel validated. But this is Gavin's best friend. There's so much that can go wrong here.

 

“Come on.” The song ends, flowing into another Geoff can't place but is familiar with. He nods, and they dance together anyway. 


	3. What Now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after, and Michael and Geoff both have questions that can only be answered by outside sources.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cant not make everything gay. anyway, here you go! <3

“Why do we always have to eat here?” Lindsay complains as the four of them slide into a booth. “I don't want to come to work on my days off!” The place in question, of course, is Hallie's Diner, where Lindsay waits tables and tries not to punch bratty teens in the face on a daily basis. The fifties style diner is an explosion of retro fashion, from the chrome and bright red upholstery to the baby pink walls. It makes Michael feel like he's in one of Lindsay's romance novels, but the food's cheap and tasty, so he can stomach the décor.

 

“Because, Lindsay, we have news. Something happened last night.” Gavin says, and Lindsay looks between the three boys. Michael's the one not meeting her eyes, so she instantly knows that he is the central character here. “Okay, either someone finally beat Michael in a race, or he knocked someone out.” There's no reaction apart from Ray's chuckle. Lindsay gasps, eyes wide. It couldn't be...

 

“You met someone!” Michael sinks lower into his seat, confirming Lindsay's suspicions. “Holy shit, really? You met someone! Tell me all about them.”

 

Michael looks up at Lindsay, his best friend of many years. She's watching him hopefully from across the table, resting her chin in her hands. He can't lie to her.

 

“Look, Linds, it wasn't like, I met someone, like you think. He's a dick! I hate him, and he pisses me off.”

 

“Yeah that's why you were dancing with him, last night, idiot.” Ray comments, snickering when Michael scowls at him.

 

“That wasn't a romance thing! That was a mistake. No, not a mistake, revenge,” Michael states, and honestly he feels like he should be pouting. He can hear himself, how pathetic he sounds, but it's true. The stunt he pulled last night, it wasn't supposed to be a romantic thing. He was showing Geoff up, stepping up the game to make Geoff back off. So he tells them as much.

 

“It was a tactical move. To scare him, ward him off,” he explains, irritated when Ray scoffs.

 

“Oh, yeah, you sure showed him Michael. I'm sure you've deterred him.”

 

“Shut up, Ray,” he snaps, looking to his other friend for support.

 

But Gavin's silent, looking deep in thought. Finally he speaks up. “You might be right there, Michael. My brother likes to play it up a lot, but as soon as someone responds, and tries to take it up a notch, he panics. Freaks out and backs off, so you might have just done it.”

 

That should have made Michael feel victorious, because he's winning their little game, but strangely... he doesn't. The victory feels pyrrhic, hollow somehow. He has no time to dwell on it however, because Lindsay's picked up on something else Gavin said.

 

“Your brother! The guy is Gavin's brother?! How old is he?”

 

“Almost twenty,” Gavin replies, and Lindsay looks shocked. She turns to Michael again, smirking.

 

“Michael Jones, you sly dog. You're only eighteen.”

 

He groans. “Lindsay, it's not like that!” Lindsay looks as if she's going to respond, but they're interrupted by another female's voice.

 

“Hi, welcome to Hallie's, what can I get for y'all?” A girl their age, with shocking purple hair, is standing there, pen and pad in hand, smiling down at them.

 

“Hiya Meg,” Gavin waves from his seat next to Lindsay.

 

“Nice accent,” Ray shares a wave too. Meg lifts a hand to them both, but her eyes don't leave Lindsay's. The two have them met here at Hallie's, Michael recalls, watching them. They like to pretend they aren't dating, but it's obvious to the group of friends. They only ever have eyes for each other.

 

Meg looks the part though, with a white polo and a pink poodle skirt. She's also wearing skates (another unspoken reason why the group enjoy Hallie's the most).

 

They order quickly, and after a flirty exchange between the two women, Meg skates towards the counter to place their order. Lindsay, after watching her go, turns back to the group with pink cheeks, positively glowing.

 

“Well, you two are rosy!” Gavin nudges her, all smiles.

 

“Nah, just gals being pals,” she jokes, and Michael can tell she's pleased.

 

After a moment of silence, Lindsay clears her throat and folds her arms across the table, fixing Michael with a hard stare. “Okay, Michael, here's what Business Lindsay thinks you should do. Go for it. Go out there and get what you want!”

 

“What?”

 

“Geoff! Go and get him!”

 

“Lindsay, he's not-” He tries to explain the situation, he really does, but when Lindsay gets an idea like this in her head it's hopeless. Nothing will deter her.

 

“You don't know he's not interested. I mean, he tried to dance with you; that's got to count for something, right?” She presses. Michael tries again.

 

“Lindsay, you don't-”

 

“Oh, but I do.” She reaches across the table and takes one of his hands in hers. “I understand. But I have faith in you.”

 

Michael drops his head to the table with a resounding thump. Lindsay accepts that as the end of the conversation, but she looks pleased with herself. Michael, on the other hand, is ready to jump out of the diner window and roll into the road. His friends are the worst.

 

 

While the four young patrons of Hallie's are digging into their main meals, Geoff is sitting cross-legged next to a large metal toolkit, leaning back on his hands to stare up at his best friend. Burnie's bent over the open hood of his shitty truck, frowning and haphazardly moving wires around.

 

“Do you even know what you're doing?” Geoff asks, raising an eyebrow in amusement. Burnie wipes his oily hands on a rag and turns to face him, visibly irritated. It puts a smile on Geoff's face.

 

“I know enough. This would go a lot faster if you would help me, since you know more than I do about cars.”

 

“I don't know shit about that hunk a' junk,” Geoff replies, dismissive. “Anyway, I'm supervising.” Burnie flicks the rag at him before bending back over the hood for a moment. By the way he's standing, rubbing one foot against the back of his leg and not actually looking at the hood, it's easy to tell that Burnie's thinking about something. Never a good sign, and Geoff has half a mind to skip out quick because he's fairly sure he knows what Burnie's about to ask him.

 

“Geoff?” The casual, questioning tone is unlike Burnie, who prefers to get straight to the point with most things, regardless of it being a sensitive topic or not.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Are you gonna tell me where the fuck you were last night?” And there it is, blunt and straightforward.

 

Geoff sighs and pulls his legs up, hangs his head between them, and begins to study the concrete in front of him.

 

“Because I could accept you bailing on us last minute, but you won't even tell me what for? What's so important that you're occupied for the next few weeks? I mean seriously, you haven't committed to anything or anyone since high school.” Burnie's right, of course, he should tell him. It's mighty strange for Geoff to act like he is. And yet, he feels oddly defensive, protective of his secret activities. He kicks the toolbox gently, chances a glance up to Burnie. He's glaring down at Geoff, but there's no real malice in the look. He sighs again. “Geoff?”

 

“I was at the roller rink.” He finally mumbles, not meeting Burnie's eyes. There's a pause while Burnie processes what Geoff just said.

 

“...the roller rink?” Geoff nods, and it just serves to confuse Burnie even more. “Why?” Geoff shrugs.

 

“You missed it... for skating? Geoff, what the fuck? I deserve an explanation, don't I? About why Geoff Ramsey missed the biggest fight of the year for a fucking roller skating party with high school kids!?” He's growing increasingly angry, like really angry, and Geoff knows he needs to speak up, sharpish.

 

“I met a kid there, okay?” He snaps. Burnie shoots him a curious look, not quite buying it. “One of Gavin's friends. He's... he's something.”

 

“Something? He's something?” Burnie raises his eyebrows at Geoff. Then he seems to register something else. “One of Gavin's friends. Geoff...”

 

“I know what you're going to say, he's bad news because it could endanger Gavin, I know! Don't you think I've thought about that? Don't you think I was awake for most of last night trying to work out what to do? I've only seen the damn kid twice and he's all I fucking think about! It's driving me crazy!” He says, all in a rush, and while it feels good to get his feelings out, he instantly regrets it when he sees Burnie's face.

 

The man is all concern, squatting down next to Geoff. “I wasn't gonna say that.” He starts softly. “I was gonna say that he must be good for you if Gavin likes him.” He claps Geoff on the shoulder and stands up. “And hey, maybe he can come to the warehouse some time.”

 

It's an offhand comment, meant to cheer him up, but immediately Geoff is filled with anger and fear. His brain offers some images. Michael on his arm, walking into the warehouse, cheering for him. Someone creeping behind him while Geoff's occupied, and laying into him. Michael, splayed out on the concrete, curly hair caked with blood, pale skin purple with blossoming bruises. No. No, he can't let that happen.

 

How could be so fucking stupid? Even thinking about dragging Michael into his dark, fucked up world? Michael has a bright future, almost ready to graduate. Just because Geoff fucked up, doesn't mean he has to drag the sweet kid down with him, because of some weird fucking _obsession_. No, he won't hurt Michael like that. He couldn't live with himself.

 

Instead, he'll leave it alone. He _has_ to, for Michael's sake.

 

Geoff pushes up from the ground and wanders over to the hood. “Alright, let me take a look, dick.”

 

Burnie laughs, but it doesn't make Geoff feel any less despicable, less selfish.

 

 

By dessert Michael's decided a plan of action. This weird feeling about Geoff won't go away on its own, he concludes. Evidence of this can be found from the last two weeks, with Michael finding his mind drifting to Geoff more often than not, and reliving their latest encounter over and over again, like a video stuck in the VCR. So, he's gotta feel Geoff out. Work out what the guy's deal is, maybe get to know him.

 

Then maybe his brain will be able to sort out his feelings, or lack of, for Geoff.

 

Soon after they finish their sundaes, Meg comes skating back to their booth with a silver tray under one arm, smiling. “How was everything for y'all?” She asks politely, but the amusement lacing her tone is evident.

 

Lindsay gently jabs her in the side. “You've been spending too much time with Ryan. That phoney southern thing is starting to sound scary real, and I know it's his fault.” She's joking of course, because she'd never stop the two of them spending time together. She looks over at Michael, who seems puzzled. “What?”

 

“Who's Ryan? Are you talking about the Ryan Gavin knows?” He asks.

 

“Hey, I know him too!” Ray pipes up, sounding indignant.

 

Meg nods. “Yeah, I met him through Gav.” She grins at the teen, and the two of them high five over Lindsay's head. There would always be a special place in Gavin's heart for Meg, since the two of them have been best friends almost as long as Michael and Lindsay, and Michael and Ray.

 

All at once Michael is struck with the reality of how small their town is. White picket fences and cosy neighbourhoods are commonplace and everyone seems to know each other here. People whom he'd had know idea had ever interacted with each other were suddenly great friends. Instead of feeling comforted, it made him feel uneasy, like he was trapped in a perpetual time loop, where nothing ever changed.

 

People were calling their time period revolutionary, but Michael felt the same as ever. Nothing had changed here for as long as he could remember, and he's carried the same friends since elementary school. Was this all he had to look forward to, for the rest of his life? Two kids in a three bedroom house in a nice neighbourhood?

 

He wasn't drawn to that goal, not really. Michael wanted... well, he didn't really know what he wanted. He just knew he wanted _something_. He wanted to _be_ something to someone.

 

Maybe that's the allure of Geoff.

 

Michael blinks, surprised at his own thought that seemed to dart out from the left field. He decides to leave _that_ mess right where it is for the time being, because heaven knows he doesn't need to involve this whole Geoff thing in his need for some greater purpose.

 

Instead, he tries to slip back into the conversation, to find that everyone's pulling their wallets out, so Michael follows suit. Again he's not really listening, just working on autopilot, stuck in his daydreams of leaving this backwater town and arriving in a city where no-one knows his name and the buildings dwarf him like great hulking oaks in the woods.

 

He doesn't fully come back to his friends for a while, and when he does, Lindsay's already bid them farewell, and Michael quickly recognises the path they're taking. They're on route to Gavin's house.

 

 

“Wanna come in for a beer?” Geoff asks, slamming the truck door with a little more force than intended. Burnie winces at the noise and nods.

 

“You fucking owe me one, anyway,” he jokes, jostling the other man playfully. They head inside, still joking with each other, and not once does it occur to Geoff that things could go wrong so quickly, but then rarely does life like to give Geoff any kind of foresight.

 

Geoff heads straight through to the kitchen, absent-mindedly whistling the Depeche Mode song he's had stuck in his head since last night.

 

He hears noises from the kitchen, but it doesn't register until he opens the kitchen door and a body, previously leaning against the wood, slams into his chest.

 

Acting on instinct more than anything, Geoff catches the person, slipping his arms under theirs and settling his hands on their chest. “Shit, dude, you okay?” He asks, more of a formality then from any real concern.

 

“Geoff?” Well. That's familiar. Geoff looks down. Big brown eyes are looking up back at him, and Michael's tongue darts out to lick his lips.

 

Geoff swallows, eyes unable to do anything but follow the movement. The two of them are locked in a moment, only broken by Burnie clearing his throat behind them.

 

“Michael.” Geoff says, a little breathless and a lot stupid. Michael nods, a reflex at the sound of his name.

 

Reluctantly, Geoff helps him back on his feet and untangles himself from Michael's torso. He watches as Michael brushes himself down, then smiles at Geoff. “Thanks, man.”

 

Geoff doesn't understand how he can act so casually about this. They just had a moment, right here in front of their friends, and he doesn't give a shit! Geoff's freaking the fuck out because Christ on a shit stick, how the fuck is he supposed to take his own advice after that fiasco? That cherub face is like crack, how the hell can he stay away?

 

Unsure how to act after that, Geoff does the only thing he can. He chokes. “B-burnie. Get.. get the beers.” He all but sprints out of the kitchen and after a moment the group hear his hurried footsteps pounding against the stairs.

 

Michael rubs the back of his neck, feeling a little awkward. “Did I do something wrong?”


	4. Hungry Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Couples night is upon us, and Michael and Geoff have something in common; they're both third wheels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a littleharder to write, and im not as pleased with it as i was with the last one. that being said, its all build up for the next chapter, which should be good fun to write!

After a week of inner turmoil and extreme self-doubt, Geoff's managed to come to some sort of agreement with himself. After awkwardly avoiding Michael on Saturday, he realised that he needed to sort himself out.

 

He can't expect Michael to sit around in the places he frequents, hang around with the people he hangs with, or partake in the illicit activities he partakes in. It isn't fair of him to expect that. So he doesn't. But on the other hand, there's no doubt now that there's an attraction there, that he _likes_ Michael, a whole damn lot. Every time Geoff sees him in fact, he's overcome with a need to be around him, to interact with him, to just be close with him.

Eventually, Geoff comes to a conclusion. If they do become something, they will be something at the rink, and at the rink only. Keep things as they are, and avoid the complicated stuff. Easy fucking peasy.

 

Which explains why Geoff's here again, for the third week in a row, tying the laces of his rented skates. Well, partially. There had been other benefits to skating, aside from Michael – although that was a pretty big one – that he doesn't want to give up. For one, his parents are happier, now that he has a 'real' hobby. Gavin doesn't give him that look, anymore – the one where he stares at him with anxious little puppy eyes. He'd never admit it to Gavin, but those looks made him feel like shit, really. Finally, the biggest one, he's hanging out regularly with Ryan and Jack again. After they graduated, he'd... well, he'd been a dick to them, no two ways about it.

 

Geoff had gone off the rails pretty quickly, and shoved his high school friends away for a long time. But now, now they were talking again – Jack even phoned him on Monday night, after they'd both finished work. It'd been nice to chat with him, both of them.

 

But still, as Geoff stands up, heading to the main room, he feels off. Antsy, jittery, fucking weird. He has a good idea as to why, too. He's gotten used to blowing off steam at the warehouse, and the fact that he hasn't been in a month is not lost him, apparently. He curls his hand into a fist, then slowly opens it. The previously cracked knuckles are almost healed now.

 

He looks around the rink, trying to see his brother among the teens. Almost immediately, he spots the lad on the floor, holding hands with Ray and laughing, the two of them in sync as they follow other couples around the floor.

 

“That's odd.” He murmurs, as he eyes continue their search.

 

“What is?” Jack asks, pulling up beside him. Ryan soon appears on his other side, and the three them stand to the side near the barrier, watching the skating teens on the rink. It slowly dawns on Geoff then, that there isn't a person alone on the rink. _Everyone_ is in a couple.

 

“Michael's not with them,” he says, wondering were the kid could be.

 

“It's not that odd, really, Geoff. It's couples night.” Ryan comments.

 

“What?” The crack in Geoff's voice causes the other two to break out into snickers. Geoff blushes, and spots a poster on the wall near the door to the locker room. He rolls over to it.

 

“Love is in the air tonight,” Geoff reads aloud. “Time to find a partner if you want to get on the floor. Every first Friday of the month.” He turns back to Jack and Ryan, frowning. “Did you two know about this?” His tone is accusatory, and quite rightly too, because neither of his friends are meeting his eyes.

 

“We might have seen the posters last week.” Ryan admits with a smirk.

 

“Then what the fuck are we doing here?” Geoff is little pissed off, because what the fuck is he supposed to do now? Michael's not here, so he may as well leave.

 

“Jack and I were...” Ryan coughs, glancing at Jack, who sighs and rolls his eyes.

 

“We'll be back soon, Geoff. We can swap out in a little bit.” And then they're gone and Geoff can't quite believe it. He honestly had no idea those two had any feelings for each other. He stands there, looking dumb for a minute. “Huh.”

 

He scans the viewing platform for a good seat, and spots a familiar head of curly hair. Geoff grins and begins the skate over to the Michael.

 

Because three people can't be a couple, Michael's currently sat here in one of the plastic seats, resting his elbows on his thighs and his chin on his hands. He's watching Ray and Gavin holding hands beneath the hazy pink and yellow lights of the rink and rolls a foot against the floor, feeling unusually bitter.

 

"Huh. Who'd have guessed that there was a pretty face under that scowl?" He glances up at Geoff, not bothering to reply.

 

“Jeez kid, you're gonna make me cry with that pout.” He says, slamming himself into the chair next to Michael, legs splayed out in front of them. “What's eating ya?”

 

Michael sighs. “Why do you care?”

 

“Just making conversation.”

 

Michael side-eyes the man sat next to him, suspicious. But Geoff looks pretty genuine, observing the skaters and rubbing the stubble on his cheeks. “Alright, I'll bite. Ray and Gavin get to skate, and I can't. Normally it wouldn't bother me, but there's something about it, you know? Being together. I dunno, man.” Michael leans back, crossing one leg over the other.

 

They're silent for a little while, and it's companionable. There's no awkwardness, no need to fill the space between them with mindless chatter. In fact, Michael feels like he's learning more about Geoff with every quiet passing minute, because he watches the man tap his skate gently against the ground to the beat, bobbing his head a little. It's endearing and Michael can't help but watch.

 

“You know, you don't have to be alone.” Geoff says quietly, so quietly Michael can't be a hundred percent sure he even heard it. But with the way Geoff's looking at him, with one side of his mouth quirked upwards and a mischievous glint in his eyes, Michael knows he heard him correctly.

 

“...Geoff.” He says, unsure.

 

“Come on, one dance,” Geoff waggles his eyebrows and holds out a hand, tempting Michael to throw caution to the wind. Once again, Michael's reminded of last week, and their 'dance'.

 

Well, it _had_ been fun.

 

“Geoff Ramsey, you are incorrigible.” He grabs the man's hand and the two of them head to the gate. Just as they reach it, the current song begins to fade out. They head out onto the now quiet dance floor, facing each other, attached by their hands.

 

The music starts, and for a moment Michael can't place it, but when the telltale synth part kicks in, he realises. Holy fucking shit.

 

Geoff looks absolutely delighted, if the shit-eating grin on his face is anything to go by, and he pulls Michael in close. “Nobody buts Baby in the corner.” His impression is actually rather good, but the stupid face he pulls afterwards is what has Michael cracking up.

 

“No way, you actually watched that movie?” He taunts, pushing against his skates to spin them both.

“Obviously you did too or you wouldn't know the quote,” Geoff counters, leading Michael to his side. They begin to skate properly around the rink like the rest of the couples.

 

“Wouldn't know the- Geoff everybody knows that quote! Lindsay kept saying it every time one of

us sat on the inside of the booth!”

 

Geoff laughs then, a high pitched chuckle that Michael was definitely not expecting, but he thinks he's a little bit in love with that laugh. “At least you have one redeeming quality.” He mumbles, but Geoff doesn't hear him, thankfully.

 

The music begins to build to the pre-chorus, and that's when Geoff's performing begins. He pulls Michael in close once more, holding his hands between their two chests. He lets go of one hand to tilt Michael's head up slightly by the chin, an action that is entirely too tender for the simple relationship Geoff had decided on, although he won't think about that until later on.

 

“Now I've got you in my sights,” he sings along to the melody and once again Michael is dazzled by how good the man sounds. When looking at Geoff, it's not Michael's first instinct to think he'll be a good singer, but he's great. It's a little annoying, to be honest.

 

“With these,” He twirls Michael under his arm, laughing when Michael's wide eyes stare back at him as he steadies himself. It's adorable, and Geoff can't quite believe he's doing this. “Hungry eyes, one look at you and I can't disguise!” And there it is, Michael is all smiles and laughter, because no longer is Geoff singing seriously, instead exaggerating the words and pulling pained facial expressions.

 

Then Michael joins in.

 

“Hungry eyes.” He skates backwards, taking on the role of Baby from the film. Pointing at Geoff, he puts a hand on his chest and pouts, looking very dramatic. “I feel the magic between you and I!”

 

They carry on in their little charade, acting out the song in an overzealous manner and swanning around the rink like they own it. Gavin and Ray skate past a couple of times, both of them falling into each other with laughter, because holy shit do the two of them look dumb.

 

But they're enjoying it, having fun. Honestly, Geoff can't remember the last time he's had so much fun, just messing around and having a good time for once. In fact, since high school he's been so broody and miserable, walking around with a set jaw and clenched fists, pulled taut like a rope. But now, after a few weeks with Michael, he feels like he's discovering an old part of his life again and it's absolutely wonderful.

 

He takes Michael's hand and spins the boy in into him, so they're back-to-chest. Michael looks over one shoulder at and meets his eyes, and although the past expressions have been funny, this one, genuine and real, almost takes his breath away.

 

Michael's lips are slightly parted and Geoff can see the tip of his tongue peeking out between his teeth. He's slightly flushed too, under the lights, and it gives his cheeks a rosy glow. But most of all, the lights reflect in Michael's eyes, which are staring at him with such intensity, and Geoff doesn't even think Michael _realises_ what he's doing, how he's affecting him. He swallows, but it doesn't really remove the lump in his throat.

 

“I need you to see,” he begins, softly, bringing his lips to Michael's ear. “This love was meant to be.” The line is breathy and Geoff's lips brush his ear, and then he's being whirled away again, spun out and away from Geoff's arms. In that moment, Michael could scream, try to claw his way back against Geoff's chest, with Geoff's arm around him because it felt so warm and safe and right, but they keep dancing like it never happened.

 

They just move together, rolling to the saxophone's tune and laughing at each other's antics.

 

Michael's heart has never been so full and he feels so much for Geoff right then that it scares the absolute shit out of him. With no idea how to deal with strong feelings like this, Michael just pushes them to the back of his mind to analyse later, and focusses on Geoff, and having a good time. However, his brain has one last little freak out, forcing Michael to take note of how good Geoff looks right now, with a stupid lopsided grin and bright blue eyes. A familiar heat spreads through Michael and he swallows, begins to giggle with the sheer stupidity of it. If he was gonna get aroused by just a person's look and their lips on his ear for a second, it would be here on fucking skates, wouldn't it?

 

It doesn't hinder him though, like he's afraid it will. It fades as quickly as it came.

 

 

Originally, Michael was going to trade out with Gavin and Ray, and one of them would sit out for a couple of songs, but in the two and half hours they spend on the floor before the food break, Michael has one dance with Gavin, and one with Jack. The rest of the time he's spent with Geoff, which he hadn't expected.

 

Nothing is quite like that first dance, neither of them make Michael's heart race quite like Geoff, and Geoff's lips on his skin, but that isn't to say that he hasn't had one of the best nights of his life. It was fun to dance with Jack, and the six of them are becoming fast friends, it looks like. He thinks he could get used to this.

 

When the six of them step off the hardwood, it's quickly decided that the three older guys will fetch the food, whilst the lads will claim a good place to eat, which ends up being against the wall, Ray's favourite spot.

 

Michael sits down, watching Gavin and Ray as they whisper to each other, both of them nodding and grinning. He knows that look – Gavin's idea face is never a good sign – and he's afraid to ask what the hell they're planning. He lets them get on with it, instead meeting the others halfway to the seats to help with the trays.

 

Almost as soon as Jack and Ryan sit down, side by side, Gavin and Ray make their move. They each take a tray – Gavin takes Ryan's, Ray takes Jack's – and drop down, sitting in their laps. Ryan looks slightly embarrassed, but Jack's grinning and picking up a handful of fries from the tray in Ray's hand. They share a look, Ryan and Jack, communicating silently. It seems they come to some sort of understanding or agreement, because Ryan wraps an arm around Gavin's waist.

 

Michael stifles a laugh at Gavin's delighted face versus Geoff's glowering one. For the sake of Gavin's happiness, he tells himself, Michael stands up and pries the tray from Geoff's tough grasp. “You'll bend the plastic, Geoff.” He can't help but snicker when Geoff barely glances at him in favour of glaring at an unbeknownst Ryan.

 

“I'm gonna do more than that in a minute, doll,” He grinds out, and Michael thinks if looks could kill Ryan would be nothing more than a pile of dust on the chair.

 

He rolls his eyes and leads Geoff to the other side of the boys, pushes Geoff into a seat and then nabs his own food from the tray. “Chill your beans, Geoffers. Gav can handle himself just fine, and you know Ryan.”

 

That seems to do it, and Geoff stops clenching his fists. It's actually kind of cute, how protective he is of Gavin, but he doesn't need to treat him with kid gloves. Gavin's not an idiot, however much he tries to convince people of that fact.

 

“What about you, babycakes? You need any protection?” He says, throwing Michael a wink, obviously recovered from his anger. He gets a shove in return, but it only serves to make him laugh.

 

“Yeah, from you maybe, old man,” Michael grumbles, stuffing fries into his mouth.

 

Geoff can't help but grin, feeling better than he has in a while. This thing he's got going is pretty decent. In fact, it's pretty fucking perfect.


	5. Race Me, Pretty Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geoff's late this week, so what else is Michael supposed to do, apart from make a bet with a challenger about who's faster?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit, was I stuck on this chapter for a while. ive also been busy, but still, my motivation got a little stumped. I like the end of this, I think, and hope you like it too!
> 
> there's mild violence near the end, fair warning, but it's only vaguely described.

On Wednesday at school, Gavin tells Michael that Geoff has to work late on Friday this week, so he won't be around at the rink until eight, or just before. It makes him upset and he doesn't really know why. So, he goes home that night and tries to think about Geoff, but instead of working out what he feels in clear terms, he spends most of the time thinking about kissing him.

 

It's out of the blue when the image first flashes in his mind, but after that he can't seem to get away from it. In his mind's eye, when Geoff's lips brush against his ear, and he's spun out, he yanks Geoff by the hand into him, stretches up and plants one on him, a hand holding the back of his neck. Geoff puts a hand on his hip, the grip hard and possessive, and then...

 

Well, then the fantasy sputters out, like a jammed video spitting out tape. There's nothing, because he can't fill in the blanks. Every time he tries, it feels fake and wrong, like he's with a puppet instead of Geoff. Michael cannot predict Geoff's moves until he makes them, can't make anything up for him, apart from the kiss. In his mind it feels amazing, and he grows flushed, feeling kind of dirty because that's Gavin brother he's thinking about.

 

Fuck it, he thinks, laying back on his bed. It's not a crime to like your friend's brother, and – Michael finally seems to realize – he does. He does like Geoff actually, quite a lot.

 

Even if he is a complete dick.

 

So what is he supposed to do for the first half of the night, exactly? Already he can't properly remember what he did before Geoff, apart from skating fast and eating junk food. He decides that Friday will be a day to earn a little bit of cash, and race a couple of assholes. He knows Gavin will scout out the perfect candidates, as he often does, and the idea makes him smile as he stares down and his History textbook, pretending to read.

 

 

“What about them?” Ray points out a group of four, two girls and two guys. The girls are hanging from the arms of the guys who seem to be posing more than actually skating. Michael thinks they might be a good bet, but Gavin shakes his head. “Look. They're wearing rented skates. Newbies never want to race.”

 

Michael scans the room again and he sees them walk in. The perfect opponents. The guy is large – probably six foot and definitely solid, built with muscle. He's with a pretty blonde girl, and already seems to be sizing up the other teens on the rink. Michael quietly points them out to Gavin, who nods and nudges Ray. Target locked.

 

They go about the set up in a similar way each time. Gavin skates down to the end of the straight, coming to a stop at the beginning of the turn and planting himself against the wall, usually in the sight of the person they want to race. After a minute or so, Ray and Michael begin to race, with Michael pulling ahead near the end and crossing the 'finish-line' where Gavin is stood. The key is for Ray to stumble when he tries to come to a stop at the end, to make the target think that they have a pretty good shot at beating Michael ,if this kid who can't even stop properly is almost beating him.

 

Of course, this doesn't work on the regulars, who know that Michael always goes easy on his friends when they race. It only works on the newbies or people who had their pride damaged and keep coming back to try and beat Michael, although at that point there's no real need for the set up anyway.

 

It works as well this time as it always has.

 

“Nice, my boy, another win!” Gavin rolls over and high fives Michael, who makes sure that his back is facing the target. “I don't think there's a single person on skates who could beat you!” There's the bait laid, and sure enough, the blonde girl is tapping her boyfriend on the shoulder, her eyes darting over to them periodically as she whispers in his ear.

 

Ray and Gavin exchange small smiles, glancing over his shoulder, and he wonders what they can see. He feels a tap on his shoulder and spins round to face the guy. “You're pretty fast,” he says, but his tone suggests that it isn't a compliment. More like a challenge, which is fine by Michael. Before he can offer any kind of fake thanks, the guy carries on. “I'm faster.”

 

Not much of a talker then. He can respect that. “Oh yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Gavin sails over, slapping a hand on Michael's shoulder and looking very smug. “There's no way you could beat him.”

 

It riles the guy, and Michael watches him visibly bristle and attempt to stare Gavin down, try to intimidate him. It doesn't work on Gavin anymore – he just uses the anger to his own advantage. “He'll be an easy kid to beat,” the stranger grunts, eyes flicking up and down Michael's frame, sizing him up. Instinctively, Michael slumps a little, trying to appear smaller, make himself look less of a threat.

 

“If you're so sure...” Gavin starts out, grinning. He pulls a ten dollar bill out of his pocket and snaps it taut, flaunting it temptingly at the other man. “Let's have a little wager. Ten dollars says my buddy beats you.”

 

For a moment, the guy looks hesitant, and Michael fears that they've judged wrongly and he's all talk, ready to back out at the first mention of money. But then his girlfriend appears from behind him and nods firmly. “Of course. Come on, Lee, you can take him,” she says, batting her eyes up at him, and that seems to do the trick. Lee grunts and raises an eyebrow at Michael.

 

“Alright. A lap?” He asks, skating towards one of the painted lines on the rink that marks out the semicircle of the turn. Without speaking, Lee joins him, and Michael quietly observes the fact that he has placed himself on the inside. Lee's less confident than he's making himself out to be.

 

Michael glances over to Ray, who's also noticed the tactical move, and they share a small smile, because Michael knows that this will be an easy win. Lee's girlfriend pipes up, demanding that she call the race, and Michael agrees in order make them feel better. After all, they're about to lose ten dollars to three scrawny looking seniors. It's probably gonna hurt.

 

“On your marks.”

 

They both crouch, but Lee's posture is all wrong. He's too far forward, without his legs tucked underneath him to keep his balance. Michael's crouched, right foot forward, centre of gravity low.

 

“Get set.” His head clears. All he sees is the wood, and the way many have moved out of their path already, anticipating this race.

 

“Go!” They're off, flying down the wood, and all Michael can feel is the wind whooshing past in a great gust and the push of his skates against the floor, as if he was trying to lift straight into the air. He can already hear Lee's laboured breathing, compare to his own measured breaths, and adjusts his speed slightly to allow Lee to draw closer, to come within an arms length of him. As they draw into the turn Michael increases his speed, refusing to let this guy inch ahead of him, even if he's on the inside.

 

Once they reach the halfway point Michael is tired of pacing himself, and Lee's red face says that his second wind won't kick in at any point soon, so he goes for it, and zips off, leaving his opponent in the dust.

 

Weaving around a wandering teen, Michael skids effortlessly around the semi circle, watching his friends delighted faces as he zooms past Lee's girlfriend, and slides to a stop.

 

By the time Lee crosses the line Michael's already lounging by the barrier with Ray and Gavin, slowing his breathing back to normal. The couple are both red-faced, and when Michael rolls over to thank him for the race, the guy slaps a ten dollar bill into his hand, scoffs once, and grabs his sullen girlfriend by the arm.

 

Michael watches them skulk away from the rink with very little regret. “So, I guess Hallie's is on me tonight, huh?” He says through a laugh, stuffing the bill into his back pocket. Ray whoops loudly and bashes into Michael's arm, whilst Gavin's shrill congratulatory noises ring through his ears and the boy pretty much jumps on top of him.

 

Sometimes Michael forgets how fun it is to be with his boys. “Hey look, there's Jack and Ryan!” Ray calls, and the mass of bodies somehow make their way over to the grinning pair.

 

“Isn't this cosy?” Ryan helps untangle Michael from the bunch, and he nods in gratitude because it was getting increasingly hard to breathe in that pile of teenage boy.

 

 

“Fuck, I don't think I could eat another bite,” Michael groans, flicking a half-eaten fry onto the greasy paper in front him. The others seem to be in agreement; only Jack and Ray are still eating with any kind of vigour.

 

“Alright, pile on,” Michael offers up the tray he's holding, and the others chuck napkins and various plastic utensils at it, murmuring their thanks. He stands and heads over to the bins, throwing a “back in a minute,” over his shoulder. Dumping the rubbish into the bin, he slots the tray on top of the pile that has grown next to it, and on a whim, decides to head outside to see if he can spot Geoff.

A quick glance to the clock tells him that it's ten to eight now, so he should be here any minute, providing nothing disastrous has occurred. With a push to the side door, the cool spring breeze hits his face, pleasant and light. It invigorates him, fills him with a contentedness that he only usually associates with being on the rink.

 

However, this feeling is slower, leaving his mind hazy and still. He feels no real compulsion to move, instead just be, to feel the night air on his skin and breathe deeply.

 

Michael leans against the cold wall, the stone leeching his body heat. Although it will be irritating to have to lace up his boots again, he's glad that he took the time to slip on his high tops, the untied laces trailing on the concrete. Makes it easier to stay still for more than a few seconds.

 

In the quiet, Michael picks up faint footsteps thudding against the ground and he looks up, pushing away from the wall, searching in the dim light for any sign of Geoff. Illuminated by the street light, he looks even taller than usual, lanky and positively dwarfed by his thick leather jacket. He looks kind of ethereal under the bright light, and that's what Michael will blame later, when he remembers this moment, that prompted him to stick his hand up in an exaggerated wave.

 

He swings his arm wildly, and grins when he sees Geoff raise his own arm in something akin to a wave. Michael's so swept up in the moment, that he doesn't hear the quiet squeaking of the door hinges, or, if he does hear it, it doesn't register in his mind.

 

A rough hand grabs his wrist out of the air, and in the next moment Michael becomes aware of the fact that his back is pressed harshly against the concrete, and the hem of his shirt has ridden up to his middle. Michael shivers, trying to work out what the fuck just happened.

 

“You hustlin' bitch.” The voice is deep and as rough as the skin that clutches him, holds him against the wall.

 

“Huh?” A glance up has him recognising the person as Lee. “Look, dude, I never hustled you. You just lost.” He tries to wiggle out of the larger man's grasp, but it becomes increasingly obvious that this guy has at least sixty pounds on him and is as strong as a fucking bull.

 

His other arm smacks against the concrete with a sting, and Michael hisses, knowing that he will have bruises on both of his wrists tomorrow. Lee's face leans in close, and from this distance Michael can see almost every hair of his stubble. He swallows.

 

“Just give me my fucking money, you little shit.” Well, who can argue with that request, Michael thinks. And then, in a moment of madness, of pure insanity, some very ignorant and proud part of Michael insists that he shake his head.

 

And he does.

 

The next few seconds pass in an inconceivable blur.

 

Lee growls, wraps one hand around both of Michael's wrists, and pulls a fist back. Michael closes his eyes, wincing, and then he's on his hands and knees, palms scraped on the tarmac. But he's not hurt, other than stinging hands and aching wrists. What had even-

 

“Touch him again, fucker, even think about _looking_ at him, and you'll be eatin' through a tube for the next six months.” Geoff – skinny, awkward Geoff – is holding Lee by the front of his shirt, and Michael gapes because Lee's feet are only just skimming the floor and how the fuck is Geoff that strong?

 

“Got it?” He hisses into Lee's face, and Michael can see by the light over the door that he is covered in blood. He guesses it's a broken nose.

 

The man nods, eyes wide and looking very frightened, and fuck, Michael would be too because Geoff has fire in his eyes and looks every bit intimidating as he stands to his full height.

 

Michael watches, slightly starry-eyed, as Geoff drops Lee in a huddle on the floor, uncaring of the man. A moment lingers then, and Michael will remember this still shot for a very long time after this night. Geoff, back straight and eyes wild, looks as if he could take on five guys Lee's size and not even break into a sweat. Geoff looks... he looks _amazing._

 

And then he rushes over to help Michael up, blue eyes filled with concern and every touch as gentle as a feather, as if the last thirty seconds hadn't even happened. “Michael, holy shit, are you okay? He didn't hurt you, did he?”

 

No response from a dazed Michael must have him worried. “Fuck, I can't see shit in this light, come over here.” A gentle arm around Michael's shoulder guides him to the door he exited from, and the two of them crowd under the light.

 

Geoff cups Michael's face with a calloused hand, unaware of the blood smeared across his knuckles, searching his face for any injuries. He appears satisfied after a few seconds, and moves on, running his fingers gently down Michael's bare arms. The hairs stand on end and Michael still can't quite catch his breath. The action is tender, and to Michael, it feels intimate, although Geoff doesn't seem to spare it a second glance.

 

He cups Michael's hands in his larger ones and lifts them up to the light. His wrists are bright red, and in some places the skin is darkening to a purple, finger shaped bruises already blossoming. Geoff's face is dark, looking livid as he gently traces the marks with a thumb. “Asshole,” he grumbles, flashing a glance to the teen groggily sat against the wall, a fair ways away from them.

 

Turning his attention back to Michael, Geoff lifts a wrist to his mouth, and presses a little kiss there. Honestly, his lips barely brush the raw skin, but it spurs Michael into action, suddenly overwhelmed with relief and gratitude for the older man.

 

He jolts forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Geoff's neck and pulling him down. Michael realises that he was actually pretty fucking scared, and can't help the fat tears that begin rolling down his cheeks. “Thank you,” he whispers, before burying his head into the supple leather of Geoff's jacket.

 

Taken aback by the hug, but still feeling protective of the younger boy, Geoff wraps his arms around Michael's waist, pulling him in close. His hands splay across Michael's back, and Geoff hates how clumsy he feels, too tall and too skinny and too awkward, but loves how well Michael seems to fit against him. Finally, his heart seems to stop racing and he can stop replaying the sight of Michael pressed against a wall on a permanent loop. His anger is still at an all time high though, even with Michael safe and warm in his arms.

 

Geoff can feel himself shaking with rage. The feeling that rushed up from inside him when he saw Michael grabbed like that, that filled every inch of him, is something he won't forget. In fact, Geoff thinks he's never moved that fast in his life.

 

“Are you alright?” He asks eventually, pulling away so he can look Michael in the face. The moment he sees the tears there he's ready to kick the shit out of that prick, livid at the sight of Michael upset like this. Swiping a tear away, Geoff waits for him to speak.

 

“Y-yeah,” Michael's voice is shaky, but Geoff can tell that the shock is minimal now, that he'll be okay.

 

Michael breathes out heavily, noting that Lee is now nowhere to be found, lucky for him, because Michael has an inkling that Geoff would have made good on his threat after that little show.

 

No longer in any danger, or feeling threatened, Michael feels a little embarrassed, crying all over Geoff like that. “Shit, Geoff, thanks. I had no idea you were that strong.”

 

Now it's Geoff's turn to look sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck and refusing to meet Michael's eyes all of a sudden. “Adrenaline?” He shrugs, and drops the hand, stuffing it into the front pocket of his jeans.

 

Michael breaks into a laugh then, and Geoff feels instantly brighter. The tension, thick through the air for a while now, dissipates as Michael nudges him with his shoulder. The two of them head inside, striking up a conversation about something Gavin did in English class.

 

If he's honest, Geoff's not really listening, instead taking in Michael's features – his cute dimple when he smiles, the crinkles near his eyes when he laughs.

 

Geoff will think about these over the next week. He will think about these moments repeatedly. The moments before Michael cries for the second time that night. Before Michael cries, and it's Geoff's fault.


	6. Baby, Don't Hurt Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Locking his shoulders, Michael's face becomes impassive, and the only tells of his hurt are the unshed tears. He clenches his jaw, nods once, and begins to turn away. “Fine, Geoff. That's it.” 
> 
> His voice cracks, and as he walks away, Geoff hears the first heart-wrenching sob from Michael. It would take a man made of steel not to crumble at the noise, and Geoff is not made of steel, as much as he'd like to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit. I finally did it. After losing almost all of this chapter, and having no motivation, I did it. Maybe now I can finally fucking progress with this shit! I really, really hope you enjoy this because it was a BITCH to write, and I don't love it but I need to get it out there now.

“Seriously guys, it was nothing,” Michael promises, trying to talk away the worried look plastered across his friends' faces. “I'm fine,” he says, eyes flicking over to Geoff. He had to open his big mouth, didn't he?

 

“Michael, the guy threatened you,” Geoff seems insistent to make this thing into something bigger than it is, whilst Michael just wants to forget it even happened, write it down to a badly judged bet. For some reason though, it seems to really bother Geoff. Maybe it struck a nerve.

 

“Yeah, and nothing happened, because you swept in like a knight in shining armour,” he jokes, bumping a hip gently into Geoff's thigh. “You can all stop worrying, and let's just get back on the rink. I don't want this to ruin the night.”

 

Finally, the others are appeased and clamber up to their feet. “I still feel like I should have come out to see you,” Gavin mumbles, but it just makes Michael chuckle.

 

“And what would you have done, huh? Made noises at him? Gavin, your face is even more punchable than mine. All you would have done is caused yourself harm, idiot.” Gavin pretends to be offended, but he knows that there's nothing he could have done to help. Michael notices him shooting little glances at Geoff, though, and can't help but feel like there's something going on here,

something he doesn't understand.

 

But then a hand splays itself possessively across his lower back, and Michael blinks, tilts his head upwards, and Geoff's looking down at him with this little half-smile and wicked blue eyes, and if that hand wasn't there he might have just stopped dead in his tracks to stare for an embarrassing amount of time.

 

That look, so gentle and directed at _him..._ it does something to Michael, gives him little butterflies. Pressing his lips together, he pushes the gate open, thinking about how sweet Geoff is, how determined he is not to let anything hurt Michael.

 

Geoff watches Michael carefully from the side, documents that little grin on his face and the pinkness in his cheeks. A familiar panic rears its head, because Geoff can't seem to help himself keep this thing in the rink. If he can't clamp down on what he's feeling, it'll spiral out of control real quick, and Geoff can't deal with 'out of control'. At all.

 

Yet, all he feels at the idea is disgust. Geoff is selfish. He wants to be something in Michael's world, something big, and regular, and not just a Friday night escapade beneath the flickering back lights.

 

“Earth to Geoff?” Michael's hand has reached round to clutch the back of his, and Geoff realises that his own hand has moved to rest on the side of Michael's waist. Turning an alarming shade of pink, Geoff swallows and removes his hand as if it has insulted Michael by its mere presence.

 

Thankfully, Michael just looks amused, and skates ahead, leaving Geoff to watch his hips sway rather enticingly.

 

 

Whilst Gavin and Ray are lacing up their sneakers, Michael puts his plan into action. “Guys, what do you think to heading off, and I'll meet you back at Ray's in like, twenty minutes? I'll bring food!” He adds, seeing their dubious expressions. They share a glance, obviously understanding what Michael means to do, so they agree, grabbing their rucksacks from the bench. “Jack, Ryan,” Ray signals them quietly from the lockers next to Geoff, and the four of them exit the locker room.

 

Geoff is taking his sweet time though, head in that locker, that the room is pretty much clear by the time he clocks that Ryan and Jack have disappeared. “Ry? Jack? Guys?” He glances around, confused, until Michael bounds up from seemingly nowhere.

 

“They said they were going to wait for you by the car,” he lies smoothly, falling into step with Geoff as they head out through the reception.

 

He clears his throat, suddenly very nervous. “So...”

 

Geoff knows that something's up, that Michael's itching to tell him something, and judging by the lack of, well, _anyone,_ it's quite a big something. Well, nothing he can't handle. Except...

 

“I was, uh, wondering, if you wanted to go to the movies or something, or the diner, sometime? Like, as in a date?” Michael's eyes dart over to Geoff, and he can feel himself going pale. Not this, he thinks, anything but _this,_ the forbidden question.

 

“Sorry Michael, busy.” Short and not so sweet, but it doesn't serve its purpose. Michael frowns.

 

“But I didn't even give you a time. You can pick when-”

It's all too much for Geoff, alarm bells shrieking inside his head as any sense he possesses begins to shut down. “Look, Michael. I like you, a lot. We have fun, don't we? Why can't we leave it at that?”

 

He's desperate, panic loud and demanding his attentions, but the look of hurt that flashes across Michael's face cuts him deep, and it takes a lot not to visibly wince.

 

He tries one last time though. “If you like me, can't we give it a try? I feel like we have a-”

 

“Michael!” Geoff stops short, angry now that the kid won't just leave it the fuck alone, has to keep testing Geoff's willpower in new and agonising ways. “I can't date you. Not now. Not ever. I have to protect you.”

 

“What? Protect me? Geoff what are you talking about?” Michael looks to be getting angry now, too, flushed and straightening up to his full height. “Geoff, please, talk to me, for fuck's sake! What's going on? Why can't you date me?”

 

“Because- because-” When Geoff searches his mind for a reason and comes up with nothing, he makes the biggest mistake of the night, and quite possibly, the biggest mistake of his life so far. “I'm not attracted to you!”

 

There's a beat of silence as Michael shrinks back from him, as if the words hit him physically.

 

“I don't believe you.” The voice is smaller now, but still determined. “You'd look me in the eye if you meant that.”

 

Geoff opens his eyes then, locks onto Michael's. “I'm not attracted to you. In fact, I think you're rude, abrasive, childish, irritating and too goddamn nosey for your own good!” His voice steadily rises until he's shouting the insults at a recoiling Michael.

 

Immediately after they come out of his mouth, Geoff wishes whole-heartedly that he could snatch them out of the air, take them back before they reached Michael's delicate ears. He watches, aghast, as Michael's eyes fill with tears, and his bottom lip begins to quiver.

 

Geoff wants nothing more than to bundle Michael up into his arms, stroke his hair and kiss his head until he's forgotten this whole thing. But of course, he has to be strong, has to hold his resolve. So he's helpless to do anything but watch as Michael's vulnerable demeanour changes in front of him.

 

Locking his shoulders, Michael's face becomes impassive, and the only tells of his hurt are the unshed tears. He clenches his jaw, nods once, and begins to turn away. “Fine, Geoff. That's it.”

 

His voice cracks, and as he walks away, Geoff hears the first heart-wrenching sob from Michael. It would take a man made of steel not to crumble at the noise, and Geoff is not made of steel, as much as he'd like to be.

 

He stumbles forward, and calls Michael's name, but at the sound Michael breaks into a sprint, dashing across the parking lot with a speed Geoff hadn't realised he could reach without skates on. Geoff gives chase, almost on instinct, but there's no way in hell he'll catch up, because Michael is very worthy of the title Fireball, both in and out of the rink.

 

And suddenly, Geoff's on his hands and knees with bleeding palms, trying to suck air into his burning lungs. He's unsure of how long he stays there, panting heavily and hearing a loop of Michael's sobs in his head, but it can't have been too long, because Jack has him by the arm, gently guiding his limp body to the car, where Ryan is looking on in sympathy.

 

 

It's a good half hour before Gavin and Ray hear the slam of the front door, and Ray hits the pause button. The two of them turn to face the door, all smiles, until Michael plods in, clutching a plastic bag. One look at Gavin has him bursting into tears, and the two of them spring into action.

 

Ray rescues the bag from Michael and hurries to the kitchen to fetch some water, whilst Gavin guides him to the nest of pillows and blankets they've made on the floor, wrapping one around the shaking teen and perching next to him.

 

It's embarrassing for Michael to be weeping so openly like this in front of his friends, but they've always been pretty close, and right now his heart is hurting so much he couldn't really care.

 

Ray squats down on Michael's other side awkwardly, holding the water in his hand and waiting for Michael to cry himself out. Which he does, after a long ten minutes of heaving sobs and gentle assurances from the other two teens.

 

Ray hands him the water, uncapped, and Michael takes, one, two, three long gulps, draining half of the bottle, before handing it back to the teen and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Gavin runs a hand through Michael's hair and gently pushes him onto the nest, and Michael follows the unspoken order, closing his eyes and sniffing heavily.

 

It only takes five minutes for the gentle snores to cut through the silence of the living room, and Gavin picks his controller up once more, although the worried look he throws at Ray suggests that his mind is far from gaming right now. Ray follows suit but both of them are distracted.

 

Eventually they stick in a video and curl up together, glancing at Michael's sleeping form one too many times.

 

His tear stained face does nothing to soothe them.

 

 

Geoff glances up at the clock illuminated by the moonlight. One twenty am. He sits up, quickly eyeing the floor for his jacket and jeans, before spotting them in a pile by the door.

 

He glances at the clock again. There's plenty of time.

 

And yet...

 

His gaze falls to the sleeping men on the floor, one of them snoring quite heavily. He doesn't want to leave Jack and Ryan again, not after they've just started to get close. He especially doesn't want to bail on them in the middle of the night to sneak off for some bare-knuckle brawling.

 

His fingers twitch, and he unconsciously balls his hands into fists. After a month of almost no action, Geoff's stress levels are at an all-time high, and to be honest if he doesn't get the fuck out of dodge in the next minute he might just put his fist through a wall. Jack's mom is nice, but even she wouldn't tolerate a hole in the plaster.

 

So, he scampers over to his jeans and jacket, scooping the former into his hands and dancing around the living room, in an attempt to put them on soundlessly. He manages it, after crashing into the back of the sofa and swearing softly. He slips his jacket on and heads to the door.

While retrieving Jack's keys from the bowl next to the door ( _a very Jack idea_ , he smiles) his eyes land on the pad of paper and pen next to their telephone. He wavers for a moment, before giving in and grabbing the pen.

 

He scrawls a note and slips out of the front door, shutting it gently behind him. Then, he turns back to post Jack's keys through his mailbox. He slips away, trying to push down the added guilt he feels.

 

 

It takes about twenty minutes of fast paced walking to reach the dirt path, long abandoned by everyone apart from the Founders, and the other gangs who congregate here. Geoff becomes aware of the gravel pressing against his feet, the subtle crunch of the rocks in the crisp night air. It contrasts well with the general faint shouts he can hear from the warehouse.

 

He approaches the brimming warehouse, surprised at the amount of people here tonight. In fact, it looks as if Funhaus have even put in an appearance, and the thought pushes Geoff into a light jog, itching to start a good old fashioned rumble.

 

“Oi, Dooley!” He yells, holding an arm in a wave. Dooley, a short, stocky kid of about Michael's age looks up, grinning from ear to ear. “Ramsey, is that you? Nice, dude!” He replies, yanking Geoff into a rough, one-armed hug.

 

“Fuck are you doing here? Burnie's somewhere near Gus's stall, if you're looking for a go,” he says, eyes alight from the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Geoff is beginning to feel it himself, and is feeling better and better about his decision to visit.

 

“Thanks, Dooley, I'll see you in a few.” With that, he heads into the building, sneaking past the throng of people, scaling the outsides of the large central room.

 

He spots Gus behind a long wooden crate, chatting to Burnie, and he stares at the huge blackboard sitting just to the right of them. The fights are written out on the blackboard, along with the 'odds' for each fighter. It looks a lot more professional than it actually is, with Gus being the only one who can actually be bothered to work out the returns for people if they win. Geoff wants to see his name on that board, and moves in, slamming his hands down on the crate.

 

Burnie and Gus glance up at him, and Burnie shouts a greeting that Geoff doesn't quite catch, though he can pretty much guarantee that it's rude.

 

“Put me in with Kovic!” He shouts over the noise. Burnie blinks, shakes his head.

 

“No way asshole, Kovic is solid as fuck! There's no way you could take him.” Burnie's frowning, but Gus just grabs a stick of chalk and fills the gap on the board with Geoff's name, snickering at the sounds of Burnie's indignant cries.

 

“I'm fast enough, now let me take him!” Geoff stares the taller man out, a part of his mind briefly noting how hot Burnie looks underneath the odd sheer lighting of the warehouse. The leather jacket does wonders for his overall look.

 

Burnie sighs and rolls his eyes, then shoves Geoff in the shoulder gently. “Alright, but it's your funeral, dick.”

 

Geoff nods, bouncing on the balls of his feet and looking slightly maniacal.

 

Burnie can see now why people believe Geoff and Gavin are blood brothers – they both have the same aura of energy and that chaotic look in their eyes.

 

There's a huge roar from the crowd then, interrupting all three of them from their musings, and forcing both Geoff and Burnie onto an old stack of boxes in order to peer over the mass of bodies.

 

There's blood caked on the floor, and someone's lying across it, unmoving and limp. The other guy Geoff identifies as Greene, one of the Funhaus boys. He's got an arm in the air, grinning, and the other guys in black and orange jackets are slapping him on the back, colliding into him.

 

Geoff spots Kovic with them, and his excitement sparks once again.

 

“Time to take this fucker out.”

 


	7. Saturday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geoff and Michael try to deal with what happened in their own unhealthy ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, its been a while. i like bits of this chapter a lot, but am unsure about other bits. if theres anything you really love or really hate, please dont hesitate to leave me a comment!

“Geoff.”

 

The tone is sharp, and Geoff groans, slamming the fridge door and turning to peer at his brother through his one good eye. The other is currently sitting behind a bag of frozen peas.

 

“Gavin, I've had about three hours sleep and I got the shit kicked out of me last night, okay? Please, let me have a fucking drink before you give me the third degree,” he says, pleading with the younger boy. Hell, Geoff already feels like absolute shit physically – the last thing he needs is that reproachful tone from Gavin.

 

Gavin softens a little, sighing and rubbing the back of his neck. “Geoff, you have to understand. Michael's my best friend, and you damn near broke him last night. What the bloody hell happened?”

 

Geoff winces, trying not to think about what _that_ would have looked like. Instead, the loop of Michael sobbing is back, playing loudly and on repeat in his head as it was doing for the entire walk home. Great, now he's hurting emotionally too. What a way to kick off his Saturday.

 

“I have to go to work soon, Gav. We can talk later, can't we?” Of course, Geoff has no intention to come home after work; he's going to meet Burnie, and they're going to drive for an hour in Burnie's car until they reach a shitty bar with cheap drinks where no one knows their faces. Then they're going to get shitfaced, and after that they'll sleep in the back seat of Burnie's car for twelve hours, or an actual bed if they're feeling fancy. Sometime on Monday when Burnie is properly sobered up, they'll come back. But Gavin doesn't need to know that little bit of information.

 

“No, Geoff. We can't. 'Cause there's not a chance in hell that you're going to step back into this house after you leave, is there?” Well, shit. Apparently he's more predictable than he thought.

 

“Please, just-”

 

“Geoff, for once in your life, just listen to me, please!” Gavin looks pleading now, so Geoff stays silent, clicking his tongue once.

 

He takes a deep breath. “You hurt my best friend. You hurt him bad. But he likes you a lot, Geoff, and I know if you explain yourself to him, he'll give you a chance, and he'll listen to what you have to say. And, if you get that right, he'll forgive you. But please Geoff, don't ignore him, don't cast him aside the way you always do when things get tough. Because Michael's not like that, he won't come back after something like that. Please, Geoff, I know you can make this right.”

 

Gavin's eyes are wide and earnest, and he can tell that the boy whole-heartedly believes in Geoff, believes in him and Michael. It stings.

 

He nods once, gives a small smile. “Noted.”

 

Gavin nods in reply, and walks out of the kitchen, safe in the knowledge that nothing else he could say or do would help now. He's said his piece, and the rest is up to Geoff.

 

But, Geoff is a coward. He knows that facing Michael today, or tomorrow – anytime in the near future – has him breaking out in a cold sweat and ready to jump through a window to get away. He can't see those sweet brown eyes turned cold and hard and directed at him. Geoff doesn't think he'll be able to recover from that. The hurt in Michael's voice, in his face, will be far too much to bear for a coward like Geoff.

 

Original plan it is then.

 

Geoff scoops up his rucksack, already packed for the weekend, and heads out, calling a goodbye to whoever the fuck is still in.

 

Gavin watches him from the window, crestfallen. He really thought Geoff could do it this time. “I guess I do have too much faith in him.”

 

* * *

 

“You know what, Michael? We are going to have such a good time that you won't even remember that shithead's name.” Lindsay grabs him by the shoulders, looking fierce.

 

“Who? I'm fine, Lindsay,” Michael insists. “Look, I appreciate the effort, but you don't need to be on twenty four hour Michael watch.” Honestly, his friends worry too much. Yeah, sure, Geoff said some shit last night that stung a little, he'll hold his hands up and admit that. But it's not like he seriously _cared._ It was just a crush rejecting him – he'll get over it.

 

At least, that's what he's letting himself believe. The honest to God truth is just too fucking much to bear right now, so he's going to push it to the back of his mind and follow the others to the fair, and pretend that his sore eyes are from a lack of sleep and not a flood of _very_ embarrassing tears.

 

“Michael this is just the grief talking.” Meg appears on his other side and loops an arm through his, and he feels a little like the victim of an ambush here. These two are always coming up with schemes and plans that seem to involve him, and it seems today is no exception.

 

“Now, Gavin's going to meet us at the fair, and we're going to have a fabulous time and see if we can make him throw up on the waltzers.”

 

Michael can't help it – hell, he's only human – he breaks into laughter, warmth from his friends bubbling an growing inside, because whatever did he do to deserve such nice people in his life? In a crisis, he can always count on them, and this, as much as he hates to admit it, is a fucking crisis. A tragic, pathetic, lonely crisis.

 

“Alright, alright, fine!” He bats their arms away gently and smiles, genuine warmth in it. “Let's see if we can make him hurl.”

 

Geoff turns the radio up louder, drowning out the car with the sounds of Forever FM, 'playing timeless hits now and forever' and tries not to think for a while. He stares out of the window, letting the trees and bushes and grass merge into one hazy, green blur. He misses the concerned glances that Burnie's throwing his way, but somehow knows that his friend is itching to say something. He gets antsy when it comes to feelings though – they all do, which is why they get along so well. Feelings make things messy and complicated and weird, so they try not to let them come between their little gang.

 

Geoff thinks back to the Founders' creation. It'd been so long since those days in middle school, when everyone listened to Matt and Joel because they were two years older, and Gus' shirts were always too big for him because his mom said he'd grow into them. They were all gangly and scrawny with oddly proportioned appendages that they'd also 'grow into' (Geoff's ears being the most ridiculed).

 

Geoff glances at Burnie, and for a moment is struck with the realization that things are really fucking different now.

 

Matt's moved on to bigger and brighter things; Joel's an actor now, and the rest of them are still at the warehouse, causing trouble and being restless kids who refuse to grow up. Geoff doesn't really understand what happened in his life. He still loves all the things he used to love, but he never really pursued anything because he did shit in school and resided himself to being a mechanic for the rest of his life, because it's all he's ever thought he was good at.

 

But here he sits, easily able to wax long and loving poetry about the way Michael's eyes crinkle when he laughs and that his freckles are so much more visible under the flickering light at the back of the rink. How he always double knots his skates but never his sneakers and Geoff's new favourite colour is the exact shade of rosy peach that Michael's cheeks are.

 

He could write for days about the way Michael looks when he cries. But he won't.

 

Geoff Ramsey is a mechanic who broke the heart of a senior in high school because he panicked, and now there's nothing he can do but watch as he pushes someone else away from him for their own sake.

 

The song on the radio fades out, and Burnie turns the volume down to cease the blaring noise of the ad playing. Geoff glances at the rear-view mirror and they lock eyes for a moment.

 

Burnie opens his mouth as if to say something, but closes it and turns his eyes back to the road. Then he looks to the right again, as if giving Geoff a once-over before committing to whatever it is he wants to say.

 

“What are you thinking about, Geoffers?” The question is simple enough, something to get Geoff talking without it having to have a heavy answer. However, it completely blindsides Geoff, and he's at a loss for how to go about answering.

 

So, he decides, for once in his life, to go with the truth. “Change.”

 

“Are you gonna keep being cryptic and broody?” Burnie teases, but there's no malice behind the words.

 

“Just-” Geoff starts, raising his hands and dropping them heavily into his lap. He sighs loudly, runs his fingers through messy hair and slides his hand downwards to rub absent-mindedly at his stubble. “I don't know, man. Matt and Joel, I guess?” He offers, watching Burnie's eyebrows hitch in surprise.

 

“You missin' 'em?” He asks, trying to act casual and failing rather obviously.

 

Geoff shrugs, unsure of the answer. “Maybe? I just got thinking about us, back in the day. The Founders, you know? We had all these plans, ideas, for stuff we'll never do.” He sighs again, knowing that he's probably making absolutely zero amount of sense, but he'll try.

 

“I've accepted that I'm gonna be a mechanic for the rest of my life, and I don't know when that happened, or why. I was gonna study English, and I fight in some seedy warehouse for kicks every week and break hearts because of my own fucking cowardice. What the fuck is wrong with me?”

 

“Christ, Geoff.” Burnie looks bemused, but ready to talk. “You're like twenty, not forty! Calm your breeze for a sec, junior, you've only been out of high school for two years. Why are you having a midlife crisis now?” He chuckles, eyes back on the road again. “Geoff, you have time. Life hasn't passed you by yet. You've just gotta grab it.”

 

“Maybe.” Is all Geoff has to say. He's all fucked up right now, and knows that anything more than that might have him choking up, which he definitely does not want to do whilst in the car with Burnie. That's a one way ticket to Embarrassment City, and while Geoff is usually a permanent resident there, he doesn't need any visitors to see his house of shame.

 

“Okay. You get a million dollars-”

 

“Fuck me, what is it this time?”

 

* * *

 

Gavin staggers to the bin, clutching the metal handles as if his life depends on it. “Oh God, I think I might actually die. I think this is it, Michael. Oh Christ,” Gavin slurs heavily, looking like he's about to heave his guts into the trash.

 

A part of Michael feels kind of bad, and wants to comfort his friend. The rest of him thinks it's fucking hilarious and wishes he had a camera right now so he could show Ray. He contents himself with taking it in turns to pat Gavin's back and double over in laughter whenever the teen moans in his melodramatic way.

 

“Michael, I'm dying!” Gavin whines, weakly attempting to clutch Michael's shirt. He neatly steps back, grinning at the other teen's pale face.

 

“You're not dying, idiot. You've been doing this ever since we got off the damn thing, and that was fifteen minutes ago. Either be sick or suck it up!”

 

Okay, maybe that was tempting fate a little bit, because – as if on cue – Gavin's eyes widen and his head ducks back into the trash, and a second later the distinct sound of vomit splashing against metal assaults Michael's ears. He grimaces, averting his eyes to search for the two lovebirds he arrived with.

 

Michael quickly spots them, sat together on the ferris wheel, giggling together and holding hands. Almost immediately he's struck with a sharp pain in his chest that settles to a dull, throbbing ache, and anyone watching him at that point would have seen the pain behind his eyes. It's clear to him how much Lindsay and Meg care for each other. He could see it so clearly, even from this distance – their body language, Lindsay tucking a strand of Meg's hair behind her ear, the two of them laughing together. Michael had seen the brightness in their eyes before when they had looked at each other.

 

He aches with an acute sense of loneliness. He wants to feel the way they do about each other. Gavin and Ray are a new and tentative relationship, young and inexperienced and unsure, but there had been a budding affection between the two of them at the start, and now it was clear that the affection was flowering into something akin to love. Maybe it was only young love – hell, both of them are only eighteen – but it's more than anything Michael has and something he hadn't realised he desired until now.

 

He blinks hard and brings his attention back to Gavin, who's finally finished puking up fried food and candy floss and tilts his head, thoughtful.

 

Gavin wipes the back of his hand across his mouth before digging into his backpack, fishing out a bottle of water and taking a long pull, washing his mouth out. “What's up, my boy?” He asks finally, a little uneasy from Michael's continued staring.

 

Michael doesn't know what prompts him; the words jump out before he can stop them. “Are you happy?”

 

Gavin blinks, surprised by the question, but he doesn't hesitate to answer. “Yeah. Why?”

 

“Just wondering,” he answers, shrugging. It occurs to Michael then that Gavin looks just like Geoff when his eyebrows knit together like that. No-one would guess they weren't blood related.

 

Gavin looks like he wants to say something more, but is cut off by Lindsay's shout, and the two boys turn to see the couple approaching them, both pink-cheeked and beaming. “How about trying to win a stuffed bear or something? Maybe you could get Ray a cute little goldfish?” Meg suggests, and Michael snorts, hiding a smirk.

 

“Ray would kill the little thing, he can barely look after himself!”

* * *

 

 

It's dusk when they finally pull up in front of a shitty little bed and breakfast with off colour white walls and a peeling sign. “This'll do,” Burnie comments, pulling up outside and killing the engine.

 

“I'm gonna wait in the car while you get us a room.” Geoff leans back in his seat, and Burnie glares at him for a moment, before heaving a sigh and leaving the car, muttering about 'ungrateful' and 'lazy' something or other, which Geoff lacks any guilt for. He's heartbroken, damnit, surely he's allowed to lounge around and not face a bitchy old woman just this once?

 

He's not allowed himself to think about Michael yet; the boy has filtered into his thoughts throughout the journey – he can't help that one – but he's not stopped to think of any kind of solution to the problem yet. Alternatively, he's going to drink so much he forgets what Michael's face looks like (and probably his own as well) in order to block out just how shitty he feels about himself.

 

Should be a great fucking weekend.

 


End file.
